


Playlist

by Muzik3



Series: Scomiche Oneshots [6]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: GUESS WHAT, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9279983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muzik3/pseuds/Muzik3
Summary: "You felt so far away."





	

It was the middle of the night when I woke up. I couldn't quite figure out why, but I was thirsty, so I decided to get out of bed and grab a cold bottle of water. As I made my way to the kitchen, I noticed music coming out of the room across the hall and wondered why Scott was still awake. He'd stay up much too late more often, but then it was usually because he had friends over, or he had just come home from clubbing. Tonight however, he had gone to bed early – before me actually, which really didn't happen that much at all. I hadn't questioned it, he had been tired lately. After tour we'd all gone back home for a few days of rest and some family time, but not Scott. He had thrown himself into other people's projects, worked on things he really didn't have anything to do with. I knew Scott never really could sit still, but he had told me right before our last show how tired he was, and that he was glad to have some time off. It didn't add up.

So I walked up to his door and listened for a minute. Aside from the soft, electronic music from some kind of playlist, I couldn't hear anything. Maybe he had fallen asleep with the music on. I knocked on his door softly and slightly opened it to peek inside when he didn't answer. It was dark, aside from the soft blueish glow of his laptop screen, and that was enough light to see the blond strands peeking out from under the white covers. I couldn't help but smile a little at the sight. I stalked over as quietly as I could, but when I reached out a hand to close his laptop, I heard a grunt.

"Leave it."

It was barely audible, his low, gravelly voice being muffled even more by the thick duvet he was under. Somehow he wasn't suffocating under there.

"I thought you were asleep," I answered, my voice soft as to not disturb his apparent sleepiness, even though I wasn't so sure he was even on his way to Neverland anymore.

"I'm not." I pulled my hand back from the laptop screen and sighed softly, trying not to take his biting tone personally.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't want to talk about it." I frowned. I couldn't remember the last time he felt this down, let alone the last time he wouldn't talk to me about something. I bit my tongue, wanting to ask about it, but I knew better than that. So I retreated reluctantly, leaving him with his thoughts and his music, and made my way into my own bed again.

It was nearly noon when I woke up again. I was pretty sure Scott wasn't up yet, so I ordered our coffees and lounged in bed for half an hour longer until I heard them arrive.

I almost just let Scott's coffee stand on the breakfast bar, but then remembered our midnight conversation and figured it would be a good idea to bring him his coffee instead. I knocked on his door again, then peeked inside. Daylight came through his curtains, illuminating the white sheets so it looked like they were glowing. His blond mop of hair still peeked out from under the covers. It almost seemed like he hadn't moved at all, and I walked over to him, putting his cup on his nightstand next to his laptop which was still playing music.

"Good morning," I said, my voice low, wanting to wake him up carefully. I was sure he was still asleep, but I knew how easy a trap it was for him to sleep the day away and with all the performances coming up, that wasn't a particularly good idea right now. I saw the blankets move up and down in response, a deep sigh. He was awake, albeit barely. I reached over to the edge of the blanket, pulling it down slightly to reveal his features, and my breath hitched when I saw the redness around his eyes. He had been crying. He had been crying probably all night and he hadn't wanted me to comfort him. I bit my lip with worry when he opened his eyes. Bloodshot, raw. Possibly painful to the touch. His eyes caught mine and when I saw him recognize my worries, he squeezed them shut again.

He didn't want to talk about it, I had to remember myself. I needed to give him the space he asked for, however hard that was, however much that pained me.

"I brought your coffee," I tried, "if you do want to talk, I'm here. You know that right?" Perhaps that was already pushing too much, but I had to make sure. When he didn't respond, I sighed quietly in defeat and turned around to leave, but when I reached for the door I heard it.

"Mitchy." It was soft, raspy, pleading. I stilled, waited for more, breathing so quietly I couldn't even hear it myself. It stayed quiet, and I carefully looked over my shoulder, wondering if he regretted responding, but I saw his eyes near-begging for me to come back, to come closer.

I obliged and returned to his bedside, dropping to my knees next to him so he didn't have to move. His duvet moved and his hand came out from underneath and I grasped it instinctively. It was warm and sweaty, but I didn't care. He was sad, something was wrong, and I needed him to know that I would do anything and everything to make him happy again. This was so unlike him, his eternal white smile missing from his face, the mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes gone. I couldn't stand it.

I kept quiet, however, waiting for him to speak. I started rubbing along the back of his hand with my thumb, and I saw his eyes flick towards our intertwined hands. I knew he was gathering the courage to tell me what was bothering him, and I needed, dear God please, I needed to stay still, I needed to wait.

It was a good few minutes before he finally spoke.

"I thought you were pulling away from me." It was quiet, barely a whisper, but it reached my ears clearly, and it shattered my heart. I would never. Never. But I didn't say anything and ran the last few weeks through my memory, and maybe... maybe I could understand why he thought so. We had gotten so close, closer than normal, and it was scary. It was scary to need him this much, so despite my anxiety skyrocketing, I kept mostly to myself. I spent less time on social media and more time reading, I spent less time with him and more time alone. Physically, I wasn't with him as much as I had been, but mentally, he was all that was ever on my mind. So I had completely missed it. I had completely missed his interpretation, his point of view, and I would've slapped myself if this broken, pleading boy hadn't been laying here opening his heart to me.

I couldn't speak, my emotions coursing through me and making me feel unstable, so I just shook my head, my brow furrowed, hoping it would be enough. His face, though still clearly sad, relaxed ever so slightly, and I was so mad at myself that I let him feel this way – not just this entire night, but possibly for weeks. The idea that he might have been worrying about this for so long without me realizing filled me up with guilt.

"You were so quiet. And you felt so far away." I was. I had been. I bit on the inside of my cheek, trying to keep it together, for him. Then I rose from the ground, motioning him over, and slid into his bed. I pushed my back against his chest, trying to get as close as possible, and God it was hot in here but this was necessary. I felt his arm coming around me hesitantly, which I couldn't stand any longer, so I grabbed his wrist and pulled at him, to indicate that I wanted to be here. That I wanted him to hold me, that I wanted to be held.

I felt his chest rise once deeply against my back, after which steady, deep breaths pushed and pulled against me and soft puffs of air hit my neck. He was asleep again.


End file.
